


Adversaries

by Themistoklis



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Childhood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:51:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themistoklis/pseuds/Themistoklis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil and Steve have just never gotten along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adversaries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [such_heights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/such_heights/gifts).



> Thank you for your prompt! I had fun writing it. I hope you enjoy the story!

Cecil and Steve were born on the same day, which is where the trouble started.

Each of them were delivered at Night Vale General Hospital. Each were wrapped in blue blankets with tiny bloodstone chips placed at the four corners of their cribs. But the babies in the nursery were arranged in alphabetical order, so Steve Carlsberg was on nearly the opposite end of the room from Cecil Palmer.

That made for good luck when the hooded figure came in. After all, it was much easier to float into the center of the room, scoop up an infant in each arm, and leave -- instead of shopping around the edges.

The nurses pulled out the name cards for the taken two and left to tell their parents it was time to go home. When they opened the door a draft wafted in.

Steve began to cry, and in the corner, Cecil was stirred out of a dream.

By the time the nurses returned the entire room was in tears.

\---

Cecil wheedled his mom for weeks, and finally got permission to bring his favorite toy into class for show and tell, on one condition: He had to keep it muzzled. Mom whipped out the iron contraption and welded it onto Eirt'bn one morning before the bus came.

His seat-mate complained that Eirt'bn took up her whole spot, but by that time of the year there were enough empty places on the bus that she could just go elsewhere. Cecil resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her as she dragged her bag down the aisle. Mom always implied that it was impolite to stick your tongue out at people in public.

Traditionally speaking they were supposed to put their items for show and tell in their cubbies. But Eirt'bn didn't fit in a cubby. Cecil looked sideways to see if anyone was watching, and shoved Eirt'bn behind the pile of coats from classes past that no one had ever claimed. There was a metallic grinding protest that grated against Cecil's bones. But his ears didn't bleed, so he skipped out to start the day with circle time.

Later, when he had to wheel Eirt'bn out for show and tell, he realized that burying it under the coats hadn't been the best plan. By the time Eirt'bn was free Cecil was the last one out.

"Um, that's not a toy," Steve said, narrowing his eyes as Cecil approached the group.

Cecil stuck his tongue out and then bit it trying to fix his face. "Is too a toy!"

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not a toy if it's _alive._ "

"And _that's_ supposed to be a toy?" Cecil asked. He pointed to the box at Steve's feet. From here it looked like it was full of just … painted cardboard.

"It's a diorama. I use it to play Legos."

The teacher walked up and cleared her throat. "Steve, if you're so eager to talk, how about you go first?"

Steve cringed slightly, then picked up his box with both hands and walked up to the front of the classroom. Everyone turned to watch him. Evaline, the girl who lived down the block from Cecil, didn't bother to turn anything but her head. Cecil stuck out his lower lip when the teacher didn't tell her not to keep her back to the board.

"So, this part is the jungle--"

"Start from the beginning, Steve."

"Uh." Steve tilted the box so everyone could see inside. "This is a diorama. I use it to play Legos."

Cecil put his hand on Eirt'bn's back when it started the metallic grinding again.

"This part is the jungle. This is the volcano."

Gasping, Cecil yanked his hand back. He barely noticed his finger catching the wrong way against Eirt'bn's scales and coming away with a bleeding scratch. "Miss Kelly, a volcano is just a mountain on fire!"

The teacher folded her hands and smiled at him in a way that made Cecil squirm. "Toys can be used just fine for make-believe, Cecil."

"It's not make believe," Steve mumbled.

"What was that?" Miss Kelly asked.

"…Nothing."

Cecil put an arm around one of Eirt'bn's writhing legs and hugged it close. Around him, the other kids were mostly fiddling with their own toys and not really listening to Steve drone on about _volcanoes._ Cecil shifted to avoid getting hit by Eirt'bn's tail. Eirt'bn was so much more fun than a stupid diorama.

\---

"The title of my paper is: _Mutually Assured Destruction: MADness in Middle School._ "

Steve stood at the front of the class with his paper clutched so tightly it threatened to rip. The crowd seemed more intimidating now that the teacher had ordered everyone to move to the front of the classroom, to fill in the empty desks. It happened every year around midterms but Steve had never really gotten used to the way a half-empty classroom could suddenly feel crowded again. In elementary school, they'd just put the extra desks in storage.

But they were getting older now, and not coddled nearly as much. Steve was expected to be able to hit targets as well as the next kid and never mind that his parents weren't even in the NRA.

At least he'd been able to choose the topic for his essay. "All students in Night Vale are required to carry guns. The rule says it's to keep us safe," Steve said, eyes glued to his paper. He could hear the other students shifting in their seats. "But what about all the gun fights that break out and end in death, or maiming, or even lost eyes? My paper is about how guns don't actually keep us safe."

A giggle rang out from the last row of desks. Steve's ears flashed hot and red. He glanced over at the teacher, but as was customary in the middle school, the woman's desk was masked with dozens of potted plants. During presentations and when she needed her voice to carry, she poked her face out. Right then, though, her eyes were hidden behind glare-opaque glasses.

"Go on, Steve," she creaked.

Steve toed his shoes together. He mumbled the next sentence or two, but did manage to make it all the way through the rest of his essay. By the end his heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought he might be swaying on his feet.

The leaves around the teacher's desk rustled. "Any questions?"

Cecil's hand shot up and Steve's stomach dropped.

"Cecil Palmer?"

"So you really think only some people should have guns?" Cecil asked, his voice squeaking.

Steve shuffled again. "I think we'd all be safer if _nobody_ had guns."

Cecil's eyes widened and he gestured wildly with both hands. "What about when the mold in the cafeteria gets loose? Or unspeakable underground monsters try to steal our lunch money? Or when tarantulas attack? Or there's a _pep rally?_ "

"Hey, we don't need guns to control tarantulas--" Steve sputtered.

"Oh. My. Gosh. Miss Redding, are you really going to let him talk like that?"

\---

The first day of his sophomore year, Cecil slinked in through the back entrance. It was the best way to avoid his classmates on the way to his locker. Luckily the combination hadn't been changed over the summer. He quickly put away his lunch, picked up his spare holster, and stuck the photo of his mother back up on the inside of the door.

It was a good picture of her. She was almost entirely in the frame and everything.

He touched his head to the locker door and took a few breaths. Mom had implied it would be okay. So it was going to be okay. Everyone's voice changed when they hit a certain stage of puberty, right? So Cecil couldn't quite control his yet. So what? It had stopped cracking, mostly… If he kept quiet enough, he could keep the side effects limited to after-school hours, and no one would know about it.

When he turned around, he smacked right into Steve and absolutely did not yelp when he jumped to the side. He just managed avoiding Steve's backpack. It fell to the floor and left a crack behind, so that was probably good thinking.

"Watch where you're going! Ugh, no one in this school has any respect for common hallway decorum." Steve picked his bag back up with both arms. He glanced up at Cecil and his face rippled. "Oh. _You._ "

Cecil turned pink from his hairline to the tips of his toes. Mom frequently implied that arguing for no reason was a waste of time. He inhaled once, then twice, while Steve sneered at him and turned slightly away. 

Steve sniffed. "I hope we aren't stuck in science class together again. If we are, I'm asking the teacher to change my seat!"

Cecil decided this argument definitely had a reason. "I got an A in science last year!" he protested, his blush shading toward tomato. "Which is more than I can say for you, **_Steve Carlsberg!"_**

The lights flickered, and the crack in the floor from Steve's backpack screeched. The tile shattered into webs at their feet.

"W-what happened to your voice?"

Cecil clamped a hand over his mouth. He stumbled backward. His shoulder clipped the lockers and he ran to the other side of the hallway, swerving around Steve. Oh, various gods. How much could he say? Was there still a crack waiting in his vocal cords? The school couldn't withstand that. He packed his voice into a whisper. "Nothing!" he mumbled. "Absolutely nothing!"

"Cecil -- Cecil, wait! Your voice, it's--"

His heart skipped. His face burned. He stumbled.

"Cecil, your voice is…"

"I _**k** no **w!"**_

The lights went out.

When they came back on, Cecil had bolted down the hall and was already leaping through the double-doors down to the sand pit that marked the division between the science and English wings. (Sand, besides being good for soaking up various liquids, was also cheap. When you lived in the desert anyway.)

If Steve followed him, the boy's footsteps were covered up by the pounding of Cecil's heartbeat. He couldn't believe he had done it! The one thing he had -- the one thing he'd spent all of the past month training himself not to do -- the one thing -- !

He was skidding into homeroom while Steve was still clambering down into the sand pit, his own face pink, and his heart thudding twice as fast as it needed to.

Cecil refused to speak to him for the rest of the year.

\---

And the year after that.

\---

And the year after that.

\---

And the year after that, except _that_ was the year that the interns got their own radio station e-mail address and Cecil got put in charge because he typed the fastest and oh, ugh, was that the worst possible thing. He actively avoided the computer whenever he could and it had very little to do with the fact that sometimes the keyboard bubbled.

_From [s.carlsberg@hotmail.com] Subject: Homecoming float disaster_

Steve's e-mails were worse than spam. Worse than the reminders the Sheriff's Secret Police sent out (not because they were bad! but because Cecil totally always remembered to speak up in loud traffic, he didn't need to be reminded, unlike some people). He clicked through them at first but it was never anything useful.

Even Cecil hadn't been on the air yet, so why did Steve think his letter was going to be read out? Like anybody in Night Vale cared about yet another tarantula outbreak. That was old news. Radio was all about staying current.

_From [s.carlsberg@hotmail.com] Subject: City Council's plan re: street litter insane!_

_From [s.carlsberg@hotmail.com] Subject: Lack of public transportation_

Honestly.

Like anyone would care about some random high school student's opinion on what the City Council did. The City Council was hundreds of years old! What made Steve think that he could know better than a group of people who had been set in their ways so long that they'd forgotten any other way to think? Obviously, anybody with that kind of history had grown into the best possible set of ideas. Steve should seriously get over himself.

_From [s.carlsberg@hotmail.com] Subject: Abrupt static last broadcast - Censorship!!_

_From [s.carlsberg@hotmail.com] Subject: "accidental" radio station fire_

_From [s.carlsberg@hotmail.com] Subject: Death rate NVCR interns IMPORTANT_

And he focused on the stupidest things. They got worse and worse over the year. Cecil didn't even have fun anymore reading out details to the other interns in the break room.

He would just skim them to make sure there was absolutely nothing Leonard or the Sheriff's Secret Police would want to know, and then trash them. And he got quicker at skimming the more he had to do. Steve gave him a lot of practice.

_From [sc_data_quest395@yahoo.com] Subject: Spam filter?_

It was a relief to finally hand managing the e-mail account over to Intern Juniper so he could work on more important things. Like interviews. Or, well. Drafting interview questions. For other interns. There was a bit of a turnover at the station.

Still, it was a move up in the world! Cecil burst with pride when he recommended an intern who stuck around for an entire week before disappearing into a spare piece of void. That was pretty good. Leonard said it meant Cecil was developing an eye for the important qualities in a radio staffer. Maybe, Leonard said, Cecil would go on to develop some of those qualities himself.

Okay, well, that last part was kind of abrupt, but Leonard was hard-hitting. Cecil wanted to be hard-hitting too.

Anyway, after Intern Juniper, the e-mail account was given to someone else, and then eventually there was an Intern who died before handing the password off to anyone and they all forgot about it. It turned out, really, that the interns were too busy for their own e-mail account.

Cecil had bigger and better things to worry about. He was just sure that Leonard was training him to take over some day.

_From [s.carlsberg@hotmail.com] Subject: Hello?_


End file.
